Life of the Party
by SingularityStar
Summary: Moaning Myrtle had been picked on all her life, and things hadn't changed in her afterlife.  So who did this new ghost think he was, invading her territory and telling her that she needed to learn to laugh at herself?  Death is no laughing matter.


Skulking by the refreshment table, Myrtle wondered why she had even bothered to show up. She had always hated parties. She always ended up alone near the refreshments, desperately hoping that someone would come up and talk with her. Now that she was dead, she didn't even have punch and cookies to distract her from her loneliness.

She drifted morosely through the cake, hardly even pausing to glance at the icing which announced Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington's525th Death Day; she couldn't even taste it. Myrtle heaved a great sigh, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. Tonight had been just one more disappointment in a life and death full of disappointments.

"Man, this is one dead party."

Myrtle glanced up in surprise to see an unfamiliar teenaged ghost floating nearby. He appeared to be dripping-ghostly drops falling from his head and shoulders, as well as dripping off his fingertips and the hems of his clothing, disappearing as soon as they hit the ground-as if his death had somehow involved water. He was smirking at her, apparently quite pleased as his ill attempt at humor. Myrtle simply glared back at him.

"It isn't funny to make fun of the dead," Myrtle scolded, annoyed that of all the people at the party, the one who approached her had to be obnoxious.

His face fell. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. Are you new to the whole 'being a ghost' thing? I know it can take some getting used to…"

"Hmph!" Myrtle huffed at him, "I most certainly am not _new._ I've been dead for nearly 75 years, thank you very much. I just don't appreciate being made the butt of someone else's joke." She could feel the tears starting to brim up in her eyes.

The other ghost simply laughed. He gestured around the room, "Because you're obviously the only dead one here." He paused for a moment at the look on her face, but continued in a slightly kinder tone, "Hey, come on, you've gotta learn to take a joke. If you can't laugh at yourself, it's going to be one long afterlife."

Myrtle turned her back and began to float away. "I don't see anything particularly funny about death," she shot back at him, trying to hold back tears of irritation. She couldn't believe that anyone could be so insensitive.

"Well, I do," the boy responded, following her. "Take me for example, I died in a bathroom."

Myrtle turned sharply to glare at him once more, trying to ascertain whether he was being truthful or simply making fun of her. "You died in a bathroom?" Her voice was sharp and rather unfriendly. Dying in a bathroom was _her_ thing, it was what made _her_ special. She didn't want to share it with some aggravating newcomer. How?" she barked, suspiciously.

The other ghost drifted backwards a bit at her tone, but a smile still spread across his face as he responded, "I drowned in the bathtub. That's right17 years old, fully qualified wizard, and I slip in the bathtub, hit my head, knock myself out, and drown," he rolled his eyes a bit at his own story. "You have to admit, that's kind of funny."

Myrtle let the silence spin out between them as she considered his story. It was a bit silly, but mostly just an ordinary and uninteresting way to die. Her death made for a much better story. She smiled slightly, satisfied that her death was still special. "I died in a bathroom, too," she finally responded

"Well, see there! That's two things we have in common! We both died in bathrooms and we're both transparent! I think we could be good friends, you and I. The name's Samuel, Samuel Richardson, but you can just call me Sam. And you are?"

"Myrtle," Myrtle choked out simply. She wasn't sure what to think of this newcomer, she didn't much care for his sense of humor, but his smile was sort of infectious, and she found herself compelled to continue speaking with him.

"Nice to meet you, Myrtle," Sam replied. "Is this where you haunt? I'm from over in Kent, came with the widow. Big mistake there, she didn't stop wailing the whole way," he rolled his eyes. "But she and Sir Nick are good friends, and they've been chatting away all night leaving me all by my lonesome. And everyone in this crowd seems old and moldy, so I was glad when I finally bumped into you. It's not often I run into someone in my state who is my own age, relatively speaking of course." He stopped for a moment. "Sorry, I tend to ramble when I get nervous, and meeting new people always makes me nervous. I forget to breathe, in a manner of speaking." He stopped for a moment to give Myrtle a chance to respond, but she merely pursed her lips at his mention of breathing and glared at him until he picked back up his rambling. "I've never been to Hogwarts before. Got my letter when I was 11 of course, but my mother decided that she'd rather homeschool my siblings and I. I begged and pleaded, but she could be quite stubborn. Could you maybe give me a tour of the castle? I've always wanted to see Hogwarts."

Myrtle narrowed her eyes. She didn't approve of all of his jokes about death, or his rambling, one-sided conversations, but he did seem to be better company than she was used to, and this party was rather dull…

She shrugged, "I suppose I could," she said with as much disinterest as she could muster, and began to float away.

"Brilliant!" Sam replied brightly as he followed her.

"Myrtle, do you mind if I ask you a question?" Sam asked as the tour was drawing to a close. She had shown him nearly everything in the castle, except for her own bathroom. It was a _girl's_ bathroom after all. He had seemed genuinely interested in everything that she had shown him, taking the time to ask her questions about the things he was seeing, and throwing in humorous anecdotes from his own life, (and death). He has explained that he had grown up in a family with four older brothers and three younger sisters, all of whom had been home schooled by his mother.

"A personal question, I mean," he continued. Without waiting for a response, he continued. "I know that you're kind of sensitive about the whole being dead thing, but I wondered if I could ask how you died? It's not every day that I meet someone else who passed away in a bathroom."

Myrtle shot him a sideways glance, trying to decide whether or not he was making fun of her, but she decided it didn't matter. She loved telling this story. "I suppose I could tell you…" she began, glancing out of the corner of her eye to make sure Sam was paying

attention. "I'll warn you, though, it was awful! I was in the bathroom, crying because this horrid girl named Olive Hornby was making fun of my glasses, when I heard a boy's voice. I was so shocked that it took me a moment to realize that he wasn't speaking English, just kind of making noises. I left my cubicle to tell him to get out, it being a girl's bathroom and all, when I saw a giant pair of yellow eyes. And then… I died," she finished with relish.

Sam looked at her a bit strangely and Myrtle braced herself for the slew of questions that usually followed. "Why would anyone make fun of your glasses? I like them."

Myrtle did a double-take; that hadn't been what she was expecting. Usually the questions all centered around the boy in the bathroom and the yellow eyes. "Well," Myrtle began, too surprised by the question to consider answering with anything except the truth, "Olive used to be my best friend. The two of us never really got along with the other girls in our year, but it didn't matter because we were inseparable. Then, the summer after fourth year, things started to change. I invited her over, but she said she couldn't come. She even stopped answering my owls. When fifth year started, she completely ignored me and started hanging out with the other girls in our house. They would all gang up on me and tease me about my hair and glasses. Even Olive…" she paused, "especially Olive. She was the worst, and it hurt the most coming from her…" Myrtle could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she mentally berated herself for telling that story. She had never told it before, but then again, no one had ever really asked.

"I'm sorry, Myrtle," Sam murmured, reaching out and grasping her hand.

Myrtle gasped and nearly pulled away at the sudden feeling of warmth at his touch. It had been so long since any of the other ghosts had been near her that Myrtle had almost forgotten the feeling of warmth that resulted when two ghosts touched one another.

He smiled at her, "I know. It's almost like being alive again." He squeezed her hand briefly before releasing it. Sam moved forward several meters before speaking again. "Back home, everyone calls me 'Soggy Sam' on account of the dripping," he motioned to himself, and Myrtle watched as several drops fell from him and seemed to disappear into the floor. "I hate it," he mumbled, darkly.

Myrtle hesitated for a moment, "They call me Moaning Myrtle," she finally replied. "I hate it, too."

Sam glanced up at her with a half smile. "That's a third thing we have in common…stupid nicknames." Myrtle smiled slightly and the two of them floated along in amiable silence, each lost in thought.

"Come on, Myrtle!" Sam broke the silence suddenly. "Let's do something fun!"

"Fun? Like what?" Myrtle was drawing a blank. The only thing she did that could even possibly be constituted as fun was spying on the prefects in their bathroom, but she didn't think that was something she wanted to share with Sam.

"I don't know. It's Halloween. We're ghosts, let's act like it!"

Moments later, unsure of exactly how she had gotten there, Myrtle found herself hiding behind a tapestry that covered a passage leading to the Hufflepuff common room. Sam was beside her, grinning from ear to ear and keeping up a running, one-sided conversation in a whisper.

"I hope someone comes through soon. Are you sure this is a busy passageway? Oh, this is going to be so great when someone finally comes through here. I haven't done anything like this for ages, have you Myrtle?"

Myrtle didn't answer; she was still trying to sort out what had made her tell this boy things she hadn't told anyone else. Yes, he was a good listener, but he was also loud and more than a little annoying. Still, she thought he might be growing on her. It had been a long time since anyone had willingly remained in her presence for so long. If nothing else, she had to give him points for sticking around.

As she was thinking this, the tapestry was pulled back and two third year girls appeared. Without warning, Sam flew out of the wall, directly through the girls, shouting "Boo!" as he went. The girls screamed in shock, and ran through the doorway as quickly as they could.

Myrtle glided out of the wall, and watched him as he doubled over in laughter. She had to admit, it _had _been fairly amusing to watch them scream in fright. In fact, she was a little annoyed that he had beaten her to it. She'd just have to pay better attention next time.

And she did.

The two of them spent the next few hours hiding in a variety of places, catching prefects doing rounds, students returning from late night study sessions in the library, and even a professor or two wandering the halls.

Myrtle was giddy with excitement. She couldn't remember ever having this much fun, living or dead. After a particularly good moment, (which involved several first year students, a bottle of spilt ink, and one very annoyed cat) Myrtle forgot herself altogether.

"Wow, Sam. You really are quite the 'life' of the party."

He looked at her for a moment before he burst into laughter. "Myrtle!" he exclaimed happily, "did you just make a joke about death?"

Myrtle smirked, "I suppose I did. I guess it doesn't always have to be quite so serious." In fact, she found that it felt rather good to laugh about it, much better than always moping around at least.

They glided side by side through the halls until Sam finally looked at Myrtle with a sad smile.

"It's getting late. The party is probably wrapping up, and I bet the widow will be looking for me. Tonight has been fun, Myrtle. I'm glad I met you."

Myrtle's face fell. She had forgotten for a moment that this strange boy would have leave, and she found that she was more disappointed by this fact than she thought possible.

"But maybe you could come to Kent some time and visit me?" Sam continued.

Myrtle's face lit up for a moment, but it fell just as quickly. "I can't," she answered sadly. "I'm not technically allowed to leave the castle grounds, Ministry decree."

She was surprised to hear Sam laughing at this. She began to tear up; she couldn't stand being laughed at, especially not by him. Not by someone she thought could be her friend.

"Oh, Myrtle!" Sam exclaimed, "You really are something else! I guess I'll just have to come back and see you again, then. You'll have to tell me the story about what you did to get yourself stuck here. It's not everyone who has a Ministry decree written about them."

Myrtle felt herself blush a misty silver, but it wasn't in embarrassment. She was rather proud of the way he spoke about her decree, and quite glad that he had mentioned coming again.

"You're always welcome to come back," Myrtle murmured, keeping her head down.

"I'll take you up on that," he replied. "Good bye, Myrtle." He hesitated for a moment, glancing around nervously, then leaned towards her, closing his eyes as he did so. Myrtle stared at him in confusion, unsure what he was doing. After several moments, he reopened his eyes and pulled back, blushing silver. "Right…ok, then. Uh, I'll just be going."

As she watched him drift away, Myrtle tried to figure out what he had been doing when he said good bye. It was almost as if…no, it couldn't be. Myrtle's eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped. He had just tried to _kiss_ her. Her! No one had _ever_ tried to kiss her before, and even more surprisingly, she found that she wanted to kiss him back.

"Sam!" she called out, gliding quickly down the corridor after him. "Wait!"

He turned around, and Myrtle could still see traces of embarrassment in his face. It made him look quite adorable. Actually, now that she was thinking about it, he _was_ rather good looking. She wasn't quite sure how she hadn't noticed that before.

"Um, hi," she said, as she reached him, unsure of what to do now. He looked at her hopefully, and Myrtle threw caution to the wind. She reached out, grasped him by the shoulders and pulled his face down to meet hers. The kiss was brief, intense, and slightly awkward, neither of them quite knowing what to do; but when she pulled away, they were both smiling widely.

"I'll, uh, see you soon then?" Myrtle asked, releasing his shoulders, and feeling the familiar blushing sensation beginning to creep up her cheeks.

"Count on it," he replied, still beaming.

With that, Myrtle turned and glided away slowly, humming softly to herself. For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel the least bit like crying.


End file.
